28 April to 11 May

I took a boat directly from Capri to the Amalfi Coast(Positano) with the intention of continuing afterwards, due south to Sicily. But thoughts of both Herculaneum, in Ercolano(which I’ve mentioned briefly, and included a few photos of, in the previous post) and Procida, which I’d bypassed, nagged at me.

Although I’d visited Pompeii decades before, Herculaneum was said to be even more impressive- smaller, but exceeding the quality of its more famous counterpart. Pompeii’s greatest treasures were showcased in Naples’ National Museum, which I had already visited with great pleasure, but many of Herculaneum’s remained on-site. And Procida was a tiny island reportedly relatively untouched by tourists and time. The thought of having to back-track north was annoying, but missing either of them seemed more so. Thus, from Cetera I took a boat to Salerno, and from there a train north to Ercolano. 

Google maps indicated a bus stop, nearby the Ercolano train station, for a bus which would take me steps from where I had booked a room for two nights. After walking the wrong direction from the station, then retracing my steps, I found the bus stop and sought shade in the nearby entrance to an apartment building. A few minutes later a young woman came and sat down on the steps next to me. She was smoking a cigarette and having an argument with the person with whom she was speaking on the phone. Her free hand gestulated in rhythm with her words and the harshness of her voice and the cigarette smoke forced me back into the scorching sun.

Vans used as shared taxis drove by. The bus was already ten minutes behind schedule. I assumed it would arrive soon. After waiting another fifteen minutes, this young woman still in animated conversation, flagged a van down. I took the opportunity to ask if it was going to my intended bus stop as well. The driver said yes. Despite the little space available, the other passengers, all women, genially made room for me and my bags. The young woman took a seat in the far back and continued her rant. Her cigarette had been flung away upon entry.

It didn’t take long before one of the women asked where I was from. My travel attire sadly screams “tourist.” Another woman, who spoke some English, was delighted to use the words she knew. Despite my request, it was becoming clear that the driver was not going where I’d hoped. Discussion amongst the passengers and driver ensued to find the best compromise. Ten minutes later I was let off on a main street with directions in both English and Italian. The women wished me well and I thanked them for their kindness. The walk was further than I had hoped, given the heat, but manageable.

I was nearing the correct address when I heard my name being called. I looked up. There was a woman standing four flights up on a balcony. She buzzed me in and met me downstairs. There was no elevator and helped me carry my bags. She asked me if I was carrying a man in there. I sheepishly admitted to the bottle of divine olive oil, salt-direct from the Malta salt-pans I’d visited the month before, and the pepper mill with whole peppercorns-none of which I wanted to part with and stubbornly carried around, but not the books, creams, clothing, shoes, and other items that made up the bulk of the weight. She had posted an ad in TripAdvisor for a room in her apartment, walking distance to the archeological site. She called herself an expert in art history. It was an attractive offer for a short stay.

I barely had time to put my bags down, before Graziella, my host, was showing me the art work around her apartment and discussing in detail and at length, each artist whom she knew personally. She then handed me several books opened to the pages where I could see the articles she had written. After a polite perusal, I asked her where the bathroom was.

While on Capri I learned of both Procida and Ischia: two islands just off the coast of Naples. Procida being both nearer and smaller and Ischia, a haven for mostly German tourists seeking its natural spas. Procida, “relatively untouched by tourism and time” had greater appeal, but I’d been initially dissuaded from visiting it given its size and dense population. Having experienced the heavily trafficked, extremely narrow roads of Capri which I could avoid, I feared this island would offer no such refuge. Yet, it continued to intrigue me.

I took a packed commuter train from Ercolano back to Naples direct to the port for a hydrofoil to Procida.

I am happiest staying in places where I have privacy and quiet-although songbirds are welcome, a kitchen where I can prepare my meals, a place to read, write, sleep, and shower comfortably, walk at length, and have a view, preferably of the sea.

My home in Procida provided me with all of these. The dogs in residence, Mandarino and Pippo, inspired many smiles.

Procida, particularly in the area I was staying was remarkably peaceful, and not crowded as I had feared. I spent my days walking from one end of the island to the other- it takes about an hour and visiting the many places in between.

I ate pasta dishes that gave the word “pasta” an entirely new meaning.

I also spent a day exploring Ischia and visiting its stunning Argonese Castle with the unusual “nuns’ cemetery” (The women were placed on stone thrones with bowls to collect their body fluids as their bodies decomposed.) The views from the castle were spectacular as were the meandering paths bursting with flowers. The family who bought the castle some generations back still reside there. Ischia had its charm, but I was happy to return that evening to my home in Procida.

My eleven nights on Procida went by much too quickly.  But my perfect abode was already booked to some other lucky travelers.